Hoshino stood up, straightened the stack of faxed papers, and refastened them into the folder.
"Managing Director, there's one more thing." Reaching the door, Hoshino paused and turned back. "The equity transfer with TSMC has cleared its final legal hurdle. We've secured an eight percent stake in their new wafer fab project in Washington state."
"Excellent work," Takuya Nakayama replied affirmatively.
This meant Sega had secured a VIP pass to the future battle for chip production capacity.
After Hoshino left, the office fell silent again.
Takuya Nakayama took a sip of water and opened his internal email on the computer, intending to finish the last few messages before clocking out.
At the top of his inbox lay the June game sales report forwarded from the North American branch.
He double-clicked to open it.
The data on the first few pages of the report were unremarkable.
Then, as he scrolled to the middle, the words Ghost in the Shell leaped into view.
On the 18th of last month, the "simultaneous video release" strategy led by Oguchi Hisao had officially launched.
The game discs and VHS tapes distributed by Manga Entertainment were released simultaneously across 1,000 Blockbuster stores and major video game retailers nationwide.
This offline channel strategy created a powerful visual synergy. Science fiction sections in video stores were plastered with game posters, while displays next to game store counters featured guides on where to buy or rent the VHS tapes.
The sales curve in the presentation looked stunning. Instead of the steep, short-lived spike typical of major releases, it showed a steady, resilient upward trend.
Feedback from the North American market validated their earlier projections. Many sci-fi fans who rented the VHS tapes were captivated by Mamoru Oshii's hardcore cyberpunk world and immediately went to buy a copy of the Jupiter game disc. Conversely, players who enjoyed the game's fast-paced action found themselves drawn to the video stores to rent the tapes and flesh out the game's backstory.
The two mediums fed into each other, creating a symbiotic loop of traffic.
Attached to the report were several clippings from North American gaming media. A reviewer from Electronic Gaming Monthly dedicated an entire page to analyzing this new "simultaneous game-film immersion" consumption model.
Takuya Nakayama closed the document and leaned back in his chair.
The move had paid off.
He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed Mamoru Oshii Studio. After the operator connected the call, a jumble of background noise came through the receiver. It wasn't the usual scratching of pencils on celluloid, but a mix of clicking game controller buttons and English dialogue from a movie.
"Director Oshii," Takuya said, "the North American sales figures are in. Congratulations. Your New Port City has found an audience that understands it on the other side of the Pacific."
"Executive Director Nakayama," Oshii's voice remained flat, betraying no emotion. "I just got a call from Shochiku ten minutes ago. Their distribution manager sounded a lot more polite than he did last November."
"Of course," Takuya said, shifting into a more comfortable position. "No one argues with money. Are you free tonight? Let's go out for a drink to celebrate."
"Not tonight," Oshii refused bluntly. "I'm at Sega Headquarters."
Takuya froze.
"In Hideo Kojima's office," Oshii added. "We're watching John Carpenter's Escape from New York."
The line went dead.
Takuya Nakayama returned the receiver to the cradle and shook his head.
Those two are really on the same wavelength, he thought.
He stood up, threw on his jacket, and left the Executive Office. He took the elevator down to the floor where the Development Department was located.
The door to Hideo Kojima's office was slightly ajar.
As he pushed it open, he was greeted by the thick aroma of coffee. The room was dimly lit, the blinds drawn tight. Shelves along the wall were crammed with various Hollywood movie tapes, and several storyboard sketches lay scattered across the desk.
Kojima and Mamoru Oshii sat side-by-side on the sofa, their eyes glued to the television screen. On it, Kurt Russell's Snake, sporting his signature eyepatch, was stalking through the ruins of New York City.
Gabriel, sprawled on the floor by the sofa, lifted his head at the sound of the door, glanced over, and then tucked his nose back into his paws.
"Managing Director," Kojima said, pressing pause on the VCR and standing up.
"Sit down, don't mind me," Takuya said, pulling up a chair. His gaze swept over the sketches on the desk.
The top sheet depicted a man in a spacesuit against the backdrop of a massive space station. Beside it, several words were scribbled in red ink: Zero Gravity, Murder, Organ Trafficking.
"A new project?" Takuya asked, pointing to the drawing.
Hideo Kojima pulled the sketch closer. "Policenauts. It's a story about space police. I've already written most of the script—hard sci-fi."
"Have you decided on the gameplay?" Takuya Nakayama asked.
"I'm still torn," Kojima said, scratching his head. "At first, I wanted to make it a traditional point-and-click adventure game. Players would click on the screen to collect clues and advance the plot. I was just discussing the storyboard layout with Director Oshii."
Takuya watched him, offering no immediate response.
In his past life, Policenauts had indeed been a point-and-click adventure. It was critically acclaimed, but its limited gameplay kept its sales from breaking into the mainstream.
"A point-and-click adventure," Takuya repeated, tapping his fingers on the table twice. "If you'd brought me this proposal two years ago, I would have approved the budget on the spot. But not now."
Kojima froze.
"You've played Ace Attorney over the last few years, haven't you?" Takuya Nakayama got straight to the point. "Shu Takumi has pushed the courtroom debates, evidence presentation, and psychological warfare of visual novels to their absolute limit. Players' expectations for these puzzle elements have been raised. If you come out with a point-and-click adventure game now, no matter how good the script is, players will find it too similar to what's already out there. They'll compare it directly to Ace Attorney."
Mamoru Oshii lit a cigarette, remaining silent.
This was an internal Sega business discussion, and he knew his place, maintaining the posture of a mere observer.
"The themes you're trying to convey are massive," Takuya Nakayama said, pointing to the words "weightlessness" and "organ trafficking" on the sketches. "These concepts can't be supported by a few static CGs and text boxes alone. You need to figure out exactly what kind of gameplay you're offering the players, and how that gameplay will organically integrate with the story you want to tell."
Hideo Kojima fell silent.
He was a hardcore cinephile with incredibly high standards for narrative and presentation, which often left him torn when it came to making compromises on game mechanics.
"If current hardware can't perfectly blend action shooting in a zero-gravity space environment with a complex mystery narrative, then put this on the back burner for now."
Please Support me by becoming my Patreon member and get 30+ chapters.
[email protected]/Ajal69
change @ with a
Thank You to Those who joined my Patreon